


I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire

by MrBarnesIfYaNasty



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ghosts, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence, stuckyscarybang2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 15:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12534956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBarnesIfYaNasty/pseuds/MrBarnesIfYaNasty
Summary: “Steve! Steve, it’s Clint again! I really need you to hear me out.” He sighed deeply and turned back to Bucky, motioning to the window. “He clearly doesn’t wanna listen.”“Keep trying,” Bucky replied. He thought for a moment. “I know! tell him something that only I’d know. Tell him he used to wear newspapers in his shoes.”Steve Rogers is in danger. Bucky Barnes is a ghost. Clint Barton is the poor bastard stuck between them. Au of the 90's movie Ghost.





	I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my entry for the Stucky Scary Bang 2017! As you can see from the summary, this is an AU of the movie Ghost. This means that Bucky is dead and will stay dead. If that isn't your thing then this isn't the fic for you!
> 
> Prompt that was provided : ‘What if Bucky died in WWII, either in Azzano or in the fall, but comes back to Steve as a ghost’
> 
> A massive thanks to 743ish for being an amazing beta who picked up on my mistakes and gave me some awesome ideas! Also a massive thanks to the SBB Survivors crew for putting up with me wailing about my fic and offering helpful suggestions. Y'all rock!

I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire

 

Dust motes floated around the room. The air was thick, smelling stale and cloying with disuse. The old blackout curtains had been torn down, allowing the first beams of light in years to enter the room. The realtor said it had been almost thirty years since somebody had been up here. She also said she couldn’t guarantee what state the space was going to be in.

Luckily for Steve and Brock, all it needed was a little TLC. They were standing side by side, sledge-hammers in hand. Brock was shirtless and wearing a pair of old ripped jeans. Steve was more sensibly dressed in tan work pants and a white tank top. The lower half of his face was protected by a dust mask. He rolled his eyes at Brock, who leant back on the sledgehammer, looking smug as all hell.

“What’d I tell you, Baby?” he said, motioning to the space around them. “We bought ourselves a goldmine.”

“Yes, yes we did,” Steve replied, sighing happily. It had taken them most of the day, but they’d busted through the ceiling of their new apartment. They'd discovered the unused loft space. 

The third member of their intrepid destruction crew was Jack Rollins. He walked around the dusty floor, his footsteps echoing in his steel toe boots.

“Guys, you could sell this place tomorrow and double your investment,” he said with awe. 

Brock chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder. “Always money with you, huh Jack?” he teased. “There’s no way we’re selling this place.”

It had taken Steve and Brock the best part of two years, but now they finally had somewhere they could call home. When Steve had been pulled out of the ice with a view to becoming Captain America again, he’d point-blank refused to take up the shield. He’d been defrosted against his will and been expected to fit neatly back into the role of perfect soldier. As soon as he realised where he was or, more accurately, when he was, he’d decided to go back to being a civilian. He had to rebuild his life from the ground up. He had no surviving friends, no family, and the love of his life had fallen to his death in the Alps. 

So he’d walked away from Nick Fury, SHIELD and the Avengers Initiative. Sure, it’d been a hard decision, and he’d spent the first few months feeling guilty as hell for it, but he figured it was about time he made his own decisions. He’d taken a few art and some necessary IT classes and he’d gotten himself a job as an illustrator for children’s books that allowed him to work freelance from home. He’d also met a wonderful man called Brock Rumlow. 

Their meeting had happened entirely by accident. Steve had been with a couple of friends from the publishing house at their favourite steakhouse when he’d quite literally bumped into Brock on the way back from the bar. Much to his embarrassment, Steve had spilled his drink down him, and after a few soggy napkins and multiple clumsy apologies, Steve found himself agreeing to a date with Brock. They’d been a couple ever since that first date. 

Their shiny new apartment was in Tribeca. A fancy zip code with even fancier prices. It was the perfect place, still close enough to Brooklyn for Steve to be able to visit his old neighbourhood. It was also close the cemetery where Sarah Rogers was buried, enabling Steve to visit her on the important days, such as Mother’s Day and her birthday.

Steve grinned again, a burst of happiness in his chest. Although the new place needed a lot of work, it was something they could build together. He pulled Brock into his arms, planted a kiss on his cheek and smiled. It was their very first kiss in their new home. Jack rolled his eyes fondly. Brock pulled Steve even closer, moving the kiss to their lips and deepening it. Brock moaned and, much to Steve’s surprise, lifted him off the ground and began to spin him around, whooping with joy.

Eventually, Steve let go, feeling a little dizzy and giddy as he turned to face the huge windows. He put his hands on his hips.

“We’re gonna be very happy here, Brock,” he said joyfully. “I can feel it.”

***

Two weeks and a hell of a lot of DIY later, it was time to get back to reality. There had been a lot of decorating, and even more ‘christening’ of each room with hot sex. 

 

Deciding to take advantage of the beautiful fall day, Steve walked Brock to his office. Brock was an accountant for a large multi-national corporation. He looked as hot as ever in his slick navy business suit. Even though they’d been together over two years now, Steve couldn’t believe that such a handsome guy wanted to be with him. 

“Hey you left your sketchbook in my office” Brock said as they entered the building. “Come upstairs and get it.”He nodded towards the elevator. “We haven’t had some fun in a while,” he added with a wink. Steve couldn’t help but grin. He knew exactly what Brock had on his mind. 

Steve made his expression neutral as the elevator doors opened. The carriage was already full of men and women dressed in business suits. They all nodded at Brock and Brock nodded back, the epitome of professionalism.

After a moment or two, he let out a small cough, their secret signal. He cleared his throat and coughed again, this time coughing directly on the back of one of the other guy’s necks. The guy flinched with irritation but didn’t say anything. 

“So Brock, what did the doctor say?” Steve asked innocently.

“Contagious,” Brock answered in his best serious tone. “Very, very contagious. In fact, I shouldn’t even be here, but what else can I do?” He shrugged. 

At the mention of the word ‘contagious’, a couple of the people shuffled sideways. Well, as much as they could in the small space.

“And how about the rash?” Steve continued, adopting a mock tone of concern.

Brock looked perfectly straight faced. Steve avoided looking at him for fear that he might burst out laughing.

“Oh, terrible...it’s, ah, spreading everywhere.”

“Wow, tough break.” Steve nodded in commiseration.

“It’s even on the genitals again!” Brock added. Steve had to choke down a laugh at that one. It hadn’t been on their planned script. “Everywhere,” Brock continued with relish. “I’m not supposed to touch anyone. Doctor’s orders.”

Much to their delight, the others hurried off at the next available floor. He and Brock grinned and chuckled, congratulating each other on the success of their well-practised routine.

Playing pranks often reminded Steve of those long-ago times. The times when he and Bucky would drive their teachers crazy with silly jokes and japes. Bucky had been an expert at coming up with new ideas. 

Of course, Steve tried his best not to think about Bucky for too long. Although it was seventy years since Bucky’s fall from the train, being on the ice for most of that meant that it still felt like a recent accident. 

Steve had taken his time to grieve. He'd shut himself away and listened to their favourite records from the 1930’s. Bucky’s death was still like a barb in the pit of his stomach. Although he’d managed to move on with Brock, he still felt wistful. There would always be a part of him that would belong to Bucky.

“Okay, time to go and crunch some numbers,” Brock said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Jack’s coming back again tonight so I figured we’d get some Chinese food in?” 

“Sounds good to me,” Steve grinned. Brock ducked into his office and handed Steve his sketchbook. He gave Brock a dorky little wave as he stepped back into the elevator. As the carriage took him back down to the ground floor, Steve realised that he was the happiest he’d been in a long time. 

***

Later that night, Steve couldn’t sleep. It had turned about to be a long working day, and an even busier evening. They’d finished moving in the last of their things, with Jack on hand to help. After two solid hours of hard work, they’d collapsed on the couches. With a Chinese takeout, they’d chatted about nonsense for another hour before Jack left.

Steve lay in bed for another fifteen minutes before he crept quietly out of the room. He took great care not to disturb Brock, who was sleeping soundly. He made his way to the rudimentary art studio that he’d set up in the attic space. He’d brought along his battered old wooden stool from his old apartment, and had set up his trusty easel. He grabbed his palette and continued to work on the painting he’d started last week. 

It was a landscape of Brooklyn, but not as it is. It was the Brooklyn that he remembered. Specifically, he’d painted his old apartment building, with the wonky fire escape and the dirty windows. It was a disgusting, shitty old building, but at the time, it was the best that he and Bucky could afford. Thinking about it always brought a wistful smile to his face.

“Baby?”

Steve swivelled around on his stool. Brock was standing there in his black pyjama pants, his dark hair ruffled from sleep.

“Sorry, I felt inspired,” Steve replied as he turned back to his painting. 

He heard a faint chuckle from Brock as his boyfriend approached him. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and Brock’s lips met the crook of his neck. Steve relaxed into the touch instantly. Brock could always be relied upon to make him feel safe and secure. 

As quickly as they appeared, Brock arms disappeared. Footsteps padded across the floor. There was a click of a button, from the old jukebox they had rescued and restored. They’d filled it with a mixture of their favourite records. 

Steve let out a happy sigh as Ben E. King’s ‘Stand By Me’ filled the room.

He rested the paintbrush on the lip of his easel and rose from his seat. He wiped his hands on his rag and turned to see Brock standing in the middle of the room, his left hand stretched out invitingly. Steve smiled as he made his way across the room and gripped the proffered hand in his own. They pulled each other close as they started to sway slowly to the beat of the music. 

The moonlight poured through the large windows. It spilled across the floor and illuminated it in puddles like spotlights. Scraps of packing paper and packing peanuts drifted across it, picked up by the breeze from the open window. They swirled around their ankles in an almost ethereal way. Steve let his head fall naturally onto Brock’s shoulder, running his fingers up and down his spine. One of Brock’s hands stayed around Steve’s waist, the other reached up and stroked across his cheek.

“Let’s go back to bed, Baby,” Brock whispered into his ear. Steve nodded, smiling against the warm skin. He allowed himself to be pulled in the direction of their bedroom.

***

An hour and a half later, Steve and Brock lay together in bed. Brock was lazily tracing patterns on Steve’s hip with his finger. Steve leant against the headboard, nibbling the bottom of his lip. He tried his best to bite back his sighs, but a few must’ve escaped his lips, and Brock looked up at him, eyes full of concern.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied instantly. 

He didn’t know why he bothered. Brock could always tell when something was bothering him. He would always refuse to let up until he found out what it was. He sighed and added, “It’s nothing, really.”

“You’re worried about something,” Brock said, hitting the nail straight on the head. “What is it? Is it this place? Or maybe moving in together?”

“No,” Steve answered, another involuntary sigh escaping his lips. “I guess I’m just worried about a lot of things…” He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I just don’t want this bubble to burst, y’know? It’s the happiest I’ve been since I came out of the ice, and I’m just scared I’m gonna lose it all.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to add ‘like I lost it all before,’ but he decided against it.

“You wanna know something, Baby?” Brock asked. He reached up and gently took a hold of Steve’s chin, forcing them to make eye contact. “You worry way too much. I love you ok?” 

Steve bit his bottom lip. It had been a long time since he’d said those words. Seventy years, to be exact. 

He clearly remembered the last time he’d said it. It was the day before they’d tackled Zola on the train. He and Bucky had been stuck in a tent, freezing their asses off, huddling together for warmth. One moment they were jointly complaining about the weather. Next, it was how long it’d been since they’d had a Coney Island hot dog. Then, the next minute, they were all lips and hands and professing their undying love for each other. Steve knew that, even after all this time, he still wasn’t ready to say it again. 

He slid down the bed and nuzzled into Brock’s chest, placing a gentle kiss on his left pec.

“Ditto.”

***

That evening, Brock had declared that he needed to relax. Steve had received instructions to meet him at work and he’d made an executive decision to take him to the steakhouse where they’d first met. Steve had happily agreed and, after eating their body weight in steak and having a few drinks, they took a leisurely stroll back to their new apartment. 

“It’s such a nice night tonight,” Brock said chattily as they took one of their well-known shortcuts down an alleyway. He took hold of Steve’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “So, you any closer to agreeing to the game room?” 

“That again,” Steve replied with a chuckle. “I don’t see why not, since we have all that extra space, and I get my own little studio.” He gave Brock a quick kiss. “As long as you come to see me from time to time,” he added jokingly. “I know what you and Jack get like when you’re on a gaming marathon.” 

“Of course, Baby,” Brock grinned with a wink. “Although, I think one of these days I’m gonna convert you to the ways of Call of Duty.” 

Steve laughed. That happy, settled feeling was there again. The one that told him his days of loneliness were finally behind him. He was a man out of time no more. He’d made a life for himself in this crazy future, and it was going amazingly well. 

Steve was, in fact, so contented to laugh and joke with Brock that he didn’t notice the figure that slipped slowly out of the shadows of an abandoned building. The shadow silently pulled a gun from his jacket and took aim. One minute Steve was pulling Brock in for another kiss, and the next, he was hit in the shoulder by a bullet. 

He fell to the ground, and the last thing he heard was Brock’s panicked cries before he passed out.

 

***

Bucky opened his eyes and suddenly became aware of the people milling around him. Fear struck his heart as he took a step backwards and then another, collapsing into a hard chair. He had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was seeing Steve’s face as he fell backwards. Down, down, down, until there was nothing but black. 

This place didn’t look anything like the snowy Alps. He had could tell that it was a hospital of some kind. It didn’t, however, look like the field hospitals that he was used to seeing. A man walked towards him, dressed in a white coat. He was obviously a doctor; as well as the white coat, he was dressed smartly in a shirt and tie and neatly pressed pants. 

“Excuse me,” Bucky said. 

The doctor, however, just walked on, not showing any signs that he’d even heard him. 

“Fuckin’ rude,” Bucky muttered under his breath. 

He looked from left to right, down the length of the corridor. All the signs were written in English. How had he gotten back to America? Unless, of course, this was England. That would make a hell of a lot more sense, although the murmurs he heard from the passing people sounded distinctly American. It still didn’t explain how he’d gotten here from Austria. Unless he’d been so out of it that he’d skipped the whole journey?

Bucky’s eyes shot wide open as he remembered the pain he’d felt in his left arm. He held it up in front of his face. It looked perfectly fine, no signs of injury, or blood seeping through his blue coat. The coat sleeve was intact, no rips or tears. It wasn’t soaked through from the wet snow. Had they given him a new jacket too? The exact same one as he’d worn in Austria? None of this made any sense. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” He said aloud, to nobody in particular. 

Without warning, an old man shuffled towards him and sat down in the seat next to him. He was dressed in an old flannel shirt and beige pants. He offered Bucky a smile. 

“New around here, huh?” he enquired. “I can tell these things.”

“Are you talking to me?” Bucky asked, blinking. 

The man chuckled and nodded. He clamped a hand on Bucky’s arm, giving it a commiserating squeeze. 

“Well, it ain’t like it used to be, I can tell you that,” he continued. “This is a whole new ball game.” 

“Who are you?” Bucky demanded. 

“I’m waiting for my wife,” the man explained. He pointed down the corridor. “She’s in Trauma One. She’s fighting it, God bless her.” 

“Can you tell me where we are?” Bucky asked. “Like, the date and everything?” 

“Sure can, Sonny,” the man answered. “We’re at the General Hospital in New York. I make it to be around midnight, 25th of June, 2014.” 

“Wait…” Bucky could’ve sworn his heart just stopped in his chest. “It’s the year 2014?!” 

He could feel himself beginning to shake all over. What the hell was happening to him? 

“Wow, musta got you pretty bad, huh?” the old man said. “What was it? Head injury?” He looked Bucky up and down. “‘Cos that’ll do it. Anyway, I should be making a move.” He leant forward, his tone lowering. “I’ll tell ya a little secret. Doors ain’t as bad as you think. Just a little zip zap. Nothing at all! You’ll see. You’ll catch on.” 

Before Bucky could further question the stranger, a brilliant white light suddenly flooded the room opposite. He saw a team of doctors and nurses hammering away at a guy’s chest, obviously trying to save his life. They were calling out to each other, gabbling fast demands as they raced to help. 

“Hurry! We’re losing him!” one of the doctors shouted as they pulled out a pair of metal paddles. 

Bucky gasped as beautiful white orbs suddenly floated down in a neat arc towards the dying man. He had seen similar orbs just after the fall, right before he’d passed out from the pain. He’d closed his eyes against them at the time, choosing to ignore them, and trying to focus on getting up and getting himself help. 

He watched, spellbound, as the doctors continued, shocking the man with the paddles. 

“What’d I tell ya?” the old man whispered in his ear. 

The glowing orbs wrapped around the ghostly outline of the man as he rose up out of his physical form and above the gurney. He took on an ethereal presence as the orbs led him upwards, and then disappeared in a flash of light. 

“He’s gone,” a doctor said sadly. The whole team bowed their heads for a moment before the doctors stepped away, leaving the nurses to cover the body with a sheet. 

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asked. He turned towards the old man, hoping for more answers but, much to his horror, the old man had disappeared. 

He sat on the hard plastic chair, completely shell-shocked. After a few moments, an orderly entered the room with the recently-deceased man. He pulled the gurney out and started to roll it down the corridor. 

Bucky stood up. Finally he was going to get some damn answers! He stepped in front of the gurney, determined to be noticed. But, to his surprise, the orderly and the gurney rolled straight through him, as if he were invisible. 

***

Bucky sat on the plastic chair, watching the hours tick by on the wall clock. People and hospital staff passed by him. There were all dressed in clothes he didn’t recognise. Some were carrying big sleek-looking rectangular screens. Others were holding even smaller rectangular items to their ears and talking into them. He guessed they were phones, but he’d never seen one so small before. 

The old man had said he was in 2014. If that were true, and it was certainly looking that way, what had happened to Steve? What had happened to his parents and Becca? The Howlies? There was no way any of them could be alive now. 

So he was dead. That much he’d figured out. He remembered reading horror comics when he was younger, underneath the covers at night when his mother couldn’t see. He knew all about ghosts, but they’d always seemed like a figment of his imagination, just a silly supernatural character to make a story more interesting. Now it looked as if he’d been brought back as one. 

But what did it all mean? Why now? Why not when Steve had needed him? He had so many questions. Had Steve been successful in defeating the Red Skull, and that twisted asshole Zola? 

Almost as if he’d summoned him by sheer will, Steve himself came around the corner. Bucky recognised him instantly. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans and his arm was in a sling but, apart from that, he looked exactly as he remembered him. 

“Stevie! Oh God, Steve!” Bucky hurried to his feet and ran down the corridor to meet him. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you!” 

But, of course, Steve didn’t respond. He continued walking, looking pensive and pained. Bucky stepped aside, not able to bear the idea of Steve walking straight through him. 

“No…” he whispered. “No...please…”

***

Bucky followed Steve all the way back to what was, presumably, his apartment. It was in one of the fancier areas of New York. He had no idea how Steve had stayed alive and managed to look the same, but it was a relief to see someone familiar in this strange new world. 

He sat opposite Steve on a fancy leather couch, watching as Steve fiddled awkwardly with his sketchbook, trying to draw with his uninjured hand.  
It was a comforting sight. He had that same little frown line between his eyebrows. The same one that Bucky liked to joke about, telling him it would stay that way in the wind. Bucky’s fingers ached to reach out and touch him, help him flick the pages in his sketchbook to find a virgin page. He could sit like they used to, Steve neatly tucked between his legs, back against his chest, and he could watch as Steve sketched his latest masterpiece. 

He froze when the front door opened and another man walked in. He was tall and muscular, not as built as Steve, but certainly no stranger to a gym. He had black hair and rugged good looks. He was dressed in a fancy suit, his shirt collar open and his tie slack. 

“Baby!” The man dropped the briefcase he was carrying and rushed over to the couch. “How are you feeling? Still in pain? I’m sorry I had to leave you there and get back to the office but I’ve been dealing with this really massive account-”

“I’m fine Brock. It’s nothing, really,” Steve replied as the guy leant over the back of the couch for a kiss. 

If he wasn’t already dead, Bucky was pretty sure his blood would’ve run cold. He felt like an idiot. Why hadn’t he expected Steve to move on? Especially since Bucky had died decades ago. He looked away from the tender moment, tears pricking his eyes. That should be his tender moment. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Brock commented, nodding to the sling.

“Of course it’s something, you fuckin’ idiot!” Bucky shouted, well aware that he couldn’t be heard. “That’s what he does! Makes out like he’s fine when he’s not!” 

“I’ll be fine.” Steve smiled up at the guy. “As soon as you make me some of that tea I like,” he added with a wink. Bucky growled in frustration as Brock grinned at him and hurried off.

“So, you’re still a stubborn punk,” he muttered in Steve’s direction. The world might have changed, but Steve sure as hell hadn’t. It was comforting as much as it was heart wrenching.

He forced himself to watch as this Brock guy made Steve a cup of coffee, fetched him some pain meds and settled down with him on the couch.  
“He asked for tea you asshole not coffee! Listen to him for god’s sake!” Bucky fumed.

When Brock removed Steve’s socks and started to rub his feet while he chatted about his massive account, rage flared in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. Unable to watch anymore, he drifted out of the lounge area and came across what was obviously Steve’s home studio. He sat down on a paint-spattered wooden stool that had been placed in front of an easel. Bucky recognised the scene at once. 

Their old apartment building. Steve had captured it perfectly. It looked so realistic that he felt he could just reach out and be pulled into it. But, of course, when he did reach out, he failed to make contact with anything. Sighing in frustration, Bucky drew his knees to his chest and stared at the painting longingly. 

***

The long, lonely night stretched on, seemingly endless. When the sun rose, Brock left the apartment, with Steve following an hour or two afterwards. Bucky drifted aimlessly around the expansive rooms, his eyes constantly being dragged towards strange, objects that seemed to be straight from his old sci-fi novels. Everything seemed so luxurious. Bucky wondered if this was the norm for people nowadays, or whether this Brock guy had lots of money. 

He stopped short of the bedroom. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to see the bed that Steve shared with another man. He spent most of his time around Steve’s little studio area, admiring the various paints and pastels and brushes. There were stacks of blank canvases waiting to be used and shelves devoted to fresh new sketchbooks. It was a far cry from Steve’s three little red, yellow, and blue paint pots, and his tattered old sketchbook and HB pencil. 

Now Steve had everything he needed. It was the sort of thing they used to talk about back in Brooklyn. They’d lie side by side on their rusty old cots, counting the cracks on the ceiling and fantasising. Steve would be a famous artist and he, Bucky, would be a writer, crafting exciting science fiction stories that would have the world hooked upon his every word, clamouring for his next book. Steve’s eyes shone with excitement as he got carried away describing his perfect studio. All the art materials he would need would be there, to cater to his every creative whim. 

This place was Steve’s dream come true. 

And yet, so many things still didn’t make one lick of sense. How was it that Steve was still around in this time, virtually unchanged from the man who’d rescued Bucky from Azzano?

Perhaps it was something to do with that magical serum that had turned him into Captain America. Maybe he no longer aged. Bucky had once scribbled down a short story about a man who lived forever. It had been a melancholy tale, as the man watched everyone he knew slowly die and leave him behind…

Bucky let out a gasp. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Steve would’ve gone through the exact same hardships as his fictional character. Had he, too, been forced to watch as the people he knew passed away? Bucky ached with longing to pull Steve into his arms, although he wasn’t quite sure what he’d say. 

Bucky growled with frustration. Maybe the man at the hospital had been lying. Maybe Bucky wasn’t back in the land of the living. Maybe this was his own personal hell, and he was forced to stand by and watch Steve love another man. Maybe he was damned to forever be a spectator. 

Before he could think about it any longer, Bucky heard the front door of the apartment open slowly. He moved towards the lounge area, hoping that it would be Steve and not that Brock guy. If this was indeed his hell, at least he could look upon a version of Steve for all eternity. 

Only, it wasn’t Steve who walked in with exaggerated care. It was a man whom Bucky had never seen before. He was tall and thin, with dark, oily hair in a slicked-back style. He was dressed entirely in black. He moved stealthily as he closed the door behind him. He paused, clearly listening for any signs of life. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. He watched as the man crept towards the lounge and kitchen area and, finding them to be empty, started to move up the mezzanine stairs towards the bedroom. 

Bucky found himself following this stranger as he moved from room to room, sweeping each one with the practised eye of a military man. When he reached the final room, the bedroom, he withdrew a gun from the waistband of his pants. Bucky watched in horror as the man breached the room efficiently, entering with the gun raised. 

“Fuck.” The man cursed aloud when he found the bedroom to be just as deserted at the rest of the apartment. 

As quickly as he appeared, the man made a hasty exit. Bucky frowned. Did this guy have anything to do with Steve getting shot. He stared at the closed apartment door, he didn’t have much time. 

The guy at the hospital had said that it was easy enough. Concentrating hard, Bucky reached out with his left hand. He felt a strange jarring sensation as he watched his hand slip through the door. Summoning all of his courage, he took a deep breath and stepped straight through. 

Luckily, the intruder hadn’t gotten far. Bucky caught up with him when he was halfway down the street. He tailed him closely, instinctively trying to dodge around the crowds of people on the street. The noise and lights were overwhelming. Everyone in this strange future seemed to be in a constant rush. It was a relief when the mystery intruder ducked into a subway station. 

Bucky followed him onto the train, keeping an eye on him as he took a seat at the end of a carriage. The intruder didn’t look a bit rattled. It was almost as if he snooped around people’s apartments regularly. More than anything, he looked annoyed. 

Bucky thanked God that Steve hadn’t been home. He knew Steve had strength on his side, but this guy seemed to be well trained and had the element of surprise.

To Bucky’s astonishment, the guy got off the subway at one of the Brooklyn stops. Bucky tailed him back up to the surface. For a moment he was stunned. The intruder had led him back to his old neighbourhood. Everything that he’d known had disappeared. His beloved streets had morphed into something he no longer recognised. The apartment buildings were still there but they’d obviously been remodelled over the years. The storefronts had all changed too. Everything was so loud and brightly coloured. Store lights flashed, the signs above them a riot of primary colours, screaming at him, ‘McDonalds’, ‘Subway’ and ‘Starbucks’. He didn’t recognise a single one of them. 

He refused to be distracted. He needed to find out where this guy was heading. He needed answers. It was still hard as hell to get his head around this future thing, but Steve’s safety was paramount. 

Luckily, the guy didn’t seem to live too far away from the subway, as it wasn’t too long before he was rushing up the stairs of an old apartment building. Bucky slipped through the door after him and followed him up to the sixth floor. The guy pulled out a key and let himself into apartment number 74. 

The apartment was sparsely furnished. The furniture that was there was obviously older, probably thrift store finds. The guy dropped his keys in a little bowl by the door and threw himself onto a battered tan couch. He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialled a number. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, sounding irritated. “No, he wasn’t there. No. I don’t have it. Um, maybe because you didn’t tell me to look for that? Look, whatever. He wasn’t there, so you’re gonna have to come up with some other plan if you want to see Rogers dead. I know. You don’t need to tell me we’re running out of time. Not my fault he wasn’t where you said he’d be. Maybe you should check your intelligence next time before you give the orders.” 

The man sighed heavily and hung up, throwing the phone onto a scratched-up pine coffee table in front of him. Bucky glared at the man, wishing there was something that he could do right here and now. He started to feel utterly helpless again. Suddenly, he was hit by inspiration. On his way out, he made sure to check the label on the buzzer. 

Jack Rollins

 

***

Bucky wandered back out into the street, What the hell he was going to do next. Somebody was out to kill Steve. How would he warn him when all he could do was pass through doors? The man at the hospital had mentioned the door thing was easy, and Bucky supposed that it had been, but he couldn’t imagine being able to manipulate things. 

He cursed, wishing he could punch something. Maybe he’d been right before. Maybe this was his personal version of hell. He was going to have to watch this stranger murder Steve. He felt utterly helpless. 

He was suddenly aware of a dog barking next to him. He looked down to see a scruffy looking golden labrador with a missing eye barking right at him. He was attached to a purple leash that was dangling between its legs. 

“Woah, woah, easy boy!” A man ran up to the dog. He was blonde, with a slightly squashed up face. There was a band-aid on his left cheek. He was dressed in a purple t-shirt and blue jeans. He looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed, although that seemed to be the style for some people these days. 

“Jeez, Lucky, calm down. Stop barking at the poor guy,” the man said, grabbing hold of the errant leash and pulling the dog away from Bucky’s feet. “Sorry about my dog, he seems to have a thing for cosplayers.” 

Cosplayers? Bucky blinked. What the hell was a cosplayer? 

“Sssh, Lucky,” the man continued to soothe his dog, bending down a little to scratch it behind the ears. “He doesn’t normally go so crazy.” He stood back up and looked Bucky up and down. “Awesome costume, though! Looks like it’s from World War II or something…”

“Wait!” Bucky exclaimed, as the penny suddenly dropped. “You can see me?” 

“Um...yeah?” The guy seemed a little taken aback. Bucky realised how crazy he must sound. 

“And you can hear me!” Bucky added, feeling almost overwhelmed with relief. It seemed like the answer to his problem had just come along in the form of this man and his dog. 

“Listen, dude, are you ok?” The guy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “You aren’t like...supposed to be anywhere right now, are you? Like a hospital?” he continued, as if he was choosing his words very carefully. 

“No, I’m not okay,” Bucky answered. “I need your help. There’s this guy, Steve Rogers, Captain-”

“America, yeah,” the guy interrupted. “Hey, why don’t we take a seat over here?” He motioned to a nearby bench. He looked concerned. He was obviously convinced that Bucky was totally insane. 

“Look, I know this sounds crazy…” Bucky started. He wasn’t really sure how to explain it. Either way, he’d probably end up sounding like he’d lost his marbles. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You know what?” The guy was looking at him up and down now, a look of deep concentration on his face. “You look kinda familiar. Have we met before?” 

“My name’s James Buchanan Barnes. Steve knows me as Bucky.” 

“Bucky as in the Bucky who died in the forties?” The guy raised an eyebrow. He suddenly clapped a hand to his forehead. “Captain America’s best friend! Fought alongside him and the Howling Commandos! That’s where I recognise the costume from! I’m kinda a history buff.”

“It’s not a costume!” Bucky exclaimed. “I’m Bucky. The real Bucky. You gotta help me. Steve’s in some deep sh-” 

“Dude. That really isn’t funny,” the guy said, looking extremely worried now. “You’ve obviously got issues--which is fine--but you really need to be somewhere where you can get some help.” 

“It’s really me!” Bucky yelled. “I don’t know how the hell it happened, but one minute I was fallin’ down that ravine, and the next moment I open my eyes in some weird modern hospital and Steve is living with some guy called Brock.” He growled. “I’m not sure how I can prove it to you but please, give me a chance.” 

“It’s been really nice talking to you,” the guy said, slowly and carefully, as if Bucky has totally lost it. “But I really gotta go. Here,” he fished around in his pocket and pulled out some coins. “Grab a bus or get yourself something warm to eat, okay?” 

He handed the coins over, blinking rapidly when they passed straight through the palm Bucky proffered and clattered onto the sidewalk. “Well, shit,” he muttered. 

“Now do you believe me?” 

***

“You know my brother Barney works out of some shitty store in Brooklyn? Claims he can talk to the dead for twenty bucks an hour. Makes a fucking mint, he does. He always talked about having the gift, and you know what? I never believed him. Always thought that he was talking a load of crap. Then he says, ‘oh you know what Clint, I reckon you have it too’. Of course I don’t! It’s a load of nonsense. Utter crap. Barney’s the biggest con artist this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

The guy, who was apparently called Clint, was pacing his kitchen floor mumbling to himself. “I’m no medium or whatever you call it. I’m just a simple counsellor for troubled kids.”

Bucky had followed the guy all the way back to his slightly shabby apartment. It was a lot smaller than Steve’s, and was in nowhere near the same sort of upmarket area. Lucky sat by the front door, watching his master pace and occasionally growling whenever Bucky moved. 

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Bucky said, beginning to feel dizzy from watching Clint. “But I really need your help. You’re the first person who’s actually been able to see me apart from some creepy ghost guy at the hospital-”

“And now there’s a ghost dude in my apartment! Of course there is!” Clint slapped his forehead. “Man, my boss warned me to cut back on my work load, but I had no idea I was losing it this much. He told me I drink way too much coffee…” He continued to mutter, this time throwing a discarded coffee mug a suspicious look. 

“Clint, please,” Bucky pleaded. 

“I’m sorry man, but this is freaking me out. You’re gonna have to find someone else,” Clint replied. 

“Someone else?” Bucky asked incredulously. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to that’s actually living. Find someone else? Are you outta your mind?” 

“Getting there fast,” Clint replied. “You know, I thought this would happen. PTSD can be a real bitch. Coulson said it could happen. Plenty of other guys who’ve left the service end up having psychotic breaks. Nothing to be ashamed of. Seeing ghosts? Ha!”

“I thought it was because of the coffee,” Bucky said dryly. “Look. We’re wasting time here. You’ve obviously heard of Steve, so you know what he looks like. He’s in a hell of a lot of danger. There’s some guy out to kill him. I think it was the same guy who shot at him the other night. I don’t know why yet but you gotta warn him.” 

“What are you talking about?” Clint continued, shaking his head. “Steve Rogers died in 1945. He flew a Valkyrie into the Arctic to prevent the USA being bombed.” 

“Well, somehow he’s alive!” Bucky said. “I have no clue how, but that’s not really important right now. He’s in dan-”

“Sorry, ghost dude, but you’re shit outta luck. I obviously need to check myself into the nearest psychiatric hospital as soon as humanly possible.” 

“But, Steve’s in real danger here. Somebody is trying to kill him, and they ain’t gonna stop until the job’s done! Please. You probably have one of those new phone things I’ve seen people using.” 

Clint stared at him. Bucky put on his best pleading face, the one that always worked with his Ma. After a few moments, Clint sighed heavily and pulled a device from the back pocket of his jeans. It didn’t look as modern as some of the ones he’d seen people using, and there was a crack across the screen, but it lit up when Clint pressed something. He looked at Bucky expectantly. 

“What’s his number?” 

“Shit. I don’t know...I know the address, though,” Bucky replied. He rattled it off. Clint rolled his eyes and spoke to something called ‘directory enquiries’. They obviously gave him Steve’s phone number as he pressed something on the screen again and then waited. 

“Hey, Steve Rogers? Yeah. Look, this is gonna sound crazy but just hear me out, okay? I’ve got a message from your friend Bucky. He-” 

Clint’s hand dropped to his side. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“He hung up,” he said bluntly. “Why did I listen to you? The poor guy probably thought I was playing some sick joke.” 

“Then you gotta go see him!” Bucky replied desperately. “Go to that fancy apartment of his and tell him in person. He’ll be able to see you’re not lying.” 

“I don’t gotta do anything,” Clint answered, shaking his head. “Look, buddy, I don’t care what you do to me, but I’m not gonna piss off Cap any further than I already have, okay?” 

***

Bucky cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He’d followed Clint to his bedroom and perched on the end of the bed. Shortly after that, he’d started to sing. 

“I don’t want to set the world on fire...” 

He’d lost count of how many times he’d sung the same two lines over and over, but judging by the way Clint was tossing and turning in the bed, it was starting to get on his nerves. 

“I just want to start a flame in your heart!” He continued to sing with gusto. 

Clint let out a cry of frustration and threw one of the pillows directly at him. 

Bucky paused long enough to let the pillow sail through him before starting up his refrain once more.

“I don’t want to set the world on-”

“Okay! Okay! Enough with the creepy old timey song!” Clint exclaimed, sitting up. “I’ll go to Cap’s place first thing in the morning! Just let me get some goddamn sleep, you creepy-ass weirdo freak ghost jerk!” 

Bucky grinned. 

***

The next morning, Bucky followed Clint as he boarded a bus that would take them to Steve’s apartment. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Clint was muttering. He’d started out quiet but he was getting louder. He was obviously getting frustrated. “He’s gonna kick my ass. I’m a random guy turning up at his place to tell him his dead best friend is a ghost. A ghost who can talk to me!”

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk as the people sitting on the seats closest to Clint moved away from him. 

Luckily, Clint knew where Steve’s apartment was, so Bucky didn’t need to direct him. They arrived outside the building and Clint took a deep breath before pressing on the buzzer. He waited a few seconds before turning to Bucky.

“Oh well, looks like he’s not here. What a shame,” he said, turning to leave. 

“No!” Bucky shouted as Clint started to walk away. “I don’t want to set the world on fire! I just want to start a flame in your heart!” 

“You are so lucky you’re already dead,” Clint muttered darkly as he turned on his heel and approached the buzzer once more. He kept his finger on it a little longer this time. 

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Steve’s voice suddenly come through the little speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Steve Rogers? it’s Clint. The guy who spoke to you on the phone last night--”

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” Steve replied shortly. There was a click from the speaker. 

“You heard him,” Clint said, motioning to the buzzer. “Captain America is someone you really don’t wanna piss off. I mean, I still can’t believe I’m talking to the guy-”

“Tell me about it. I know Steve, he’s a stubborn punk,” Bucky muttered. “But you gotta keep trying. I can’t just stand by and watch this guy kill him! Look,” Bucky pointed upwards. “That’s his window, I’m sure of it,” 

“You want me to yell in the street like a crazy guy?” Clint asked incredulously. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Ok fine,” he continued through gritted teeth. “Just don’t sing that fucking song any more.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Steve! Steve, it’s Clint again! I really need you to hear me out.” He sighed deeply and turned back to Bucky, motioning to the window. “He clearly doesn’t wanna listen.” 

“Keep trying,” Bucky replied. He thought for a moment. “I know! tell him something that only I’d know. Tell him he used to wear newspapers in his shoes.” 

“Steve! This isn’t a prank. I promise. Bucky’s right here. He wants me to tell you that he used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” Clint continued, sounding confused as he said it.

“Mention the freezer truck from Rockaway Beach!” Bucky urged. There was still no sign of Steve at the window, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Clint give up. 

“He’s saying something about a freezer truck?” Clint yelled at the window. “From Rockaway Beach?” 

A window opened but two floors down. A man popped his head out. “You wanna shut up?” he shouted angrily. 

“Do you mind?” Clint shot back. “This is a private conversation!” He looked at Bucky helplessly. 

“Tell him about the train money for the bear!” Bucky said, after a moment’s thought. 

“Something about train money for the bear?” Clint shouted again. He turned to look back at Bucky. “Was life really that weird back in the 40’s or was it just you?” He shook his head and turned back to the window. “Do you hear me, Steve?” 

“I damn well hear you!” the man from the other window called back. “Haven’t you ever heard of a phone?”

“Look man, I’m trying to do something important here. Kiss my ass, okay?” Clint snapped. 

He was beginning to look very frustrated indeed. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at the comeback. 

“Steve, I’m not gonna stand out here all day-”

“Thank god for that!” the man yelled. 

“I tried, dude. I really tried,” Clint said in defeat. “There’s not much else I can do. Like you said, he’s a stubborn ass.”

“Steve,” Bucky said tenderly. The front door had opened and Steve was standing on the stairs. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black sweater. He had his arms folded across his chest and was frowning deeply. 

Clint wheeled around.

“How did you know that stuff?” Steve asked quietly. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, dude,” Clint replied gently. “Bucky’s here and he’s real. He wants me to talk to you. Don’t ask me how or why, but he’s pretty damn adamant about it. You ever had a whole night of some creepy old timey song that goes I don’t want to set the world on fire-”

“I just want to start a flame in your heart,” Steve muttered quietly. “The Ink Spots. It was Bucky’s favourite song.”

Bucky's eyes filled with tears. Of course Steve remembered after all these years. 

It was the first song that they’d danced to when they’d made their relationship official. It had been a cold November evening. There were drafts coming into the apartment every which way, and the roof had been leaking so much that they’d had to use most of their pots and pans to collect the drips. They were freezing cold, and Bucky had the great idea of dancing to warm them both up. He’d pulled a reluctant Steve to his feet and turned on the wireless radio. ‘I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire’ by the Ink Spots was playing, and they’d slow-danced to it, dodging the pots and pans. 

“This is crazy, Clint,” Steve was saying. “I mean, why now, after all this time? I don’t even believe in ghosts and life after death.”

“Tell him he’s wrong and a stubborn punk,” Bucky instructed. 

“He says you’re wrong, and that you’re a stubborn punk,” Clint repeated dutifully. 

Steve’s eyes widened. 

“He’s talking to you right now?” he asked incredulously. “Where is he?” 

“He’s right next to me,” Clint replied, tossing a thumb in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky swallowed hard. He wished he could reach right out and touch Steve’s hand, pull him into his arms, but, of course, he couldn’t. 

“How about we go upstairs and talk about this?” Clint suggested.

***

Bucky followed Clint and Steve back into the apartment. They took a seat opposite each other on the couch. Bucky perched in the armchair. Luckily, Brock was nowhere to be seen. Bucky wasn’t sure why, but he got the impression that there was something off about Steve’s boyfriend. He’d tried to chalk it up to jealously and bitterness, but it nagged at him insistently. 

“So, why now?” Steve asked. “Why did he choose to come back now?” 

“Listen man, I don’t even pretend to understand this stuff,” Clint replied. “My brother Barney always used to claim he could talk to spirits. He said that sometimes souls can get trapped between worlds, and something triggers their return because they have unfinished business, which they have to sort out before they can cross over.” He shrugged. “At least, that’s what Barney said. To be honest, I always thought it was bullshit until I bumped into your friend here.” 

“You wanna stop talkin’ bullshit and tell him he’s in danger?” Bucky said peevishly. 

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. He didn’t care about the how or why, he just needed to ensure that Steve would be safe. He had a feeling that the person who shot him was likely the same guy who’d come to the apartment. 

“Kind of a pushy asshole isn’t he?” Clint said. 

“Just. Tell. Him. He’s. In. Danger.” Bucky replied through gritted teeth. 

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” It was Clint’s turn to roll his eyes. He turned back to Steve. “He wants you to know that you’re in danger.”

“Tell him I think it’s the same person who shot him. He was in the apartment. I’m pretty sure he was intending to finish the job. I followed him back to where he lives so I have the address and his name. It’s Jack Rollins.” Bucky continued. 

“He says that he thinks it’s the dude who shot you,” Clint explained. “And that the dude came to the apartment to finish the job. Says his name is Jack Rollins.”

“Jack was in here?” Steve’s jaw clenched. “When?” 

“This morning,” Bucky answered, nodding at Clint who repeated the information. 

Steve chewed the bottom of his lip thoughtfully. Bucky knew that look. Steve was obviously weighing up whether or not to believe Clint. 

“I just…” Steve sighed deeply. “It’s-” He shook his head and started again. “It’s been so long, and I never really moved on from him. I always tried to kid myself that I did but I didn’t, not really. But I don’t get why he would come back now, and not all the other times we’ve been in danger...and I so wanted to believe this was some sick prank dumb pranks, but that stuff you said out there, there’s no way you could’ve known any of that stuff--” He put his head in his hands. 

“I’m really here, Steve,” Bucky said sadly. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but Steve looked so distraught he wished he could reach out and embrace just like he used to. 

Clint seemed to have the good sense not to repeat it. Instead, he looked at Bucky with pity. 

“Can he hear me?” Steve asked. “And...where is he? Like, right now?” 

“He can hear you,” Clint replied with a nod. “And he’s sitting right there in the armchair.”

“Hey Buck,” Steve said shakily. He looked tearful. “I feel really weird talking to my armchair like this, but if Clint’s telling the truth, and I really think he is then...well, I’m glad you’re here. I wish I could see you. Can’t believe you’re still looking after my ass even though you’re…” He smiled sadly. “Tell Clint everything I need to know and we’ll get to the bottom of this, okay? ‘Til the end of the line, right?” 

“Tell him ‘til the end of the line’ back, and tell him he’s a soppy punk,” Bucky said around the sudden lump in his throat. He wiped his eyes quickly as Clint relayed the message. “And that I’m going back there tonight. I’m gonna find out who the hell this guy is.”

 

***

Steve sat in front of the painting of the old apartment for three hours before Brock finally came home from work. He was going through Clint’s words, replaying them in his head. How had Clint known that stuff if it wasn’t really Bucky that was telling him? It wasn’t the sort of thing you could read in a museum or a history book. It was intimate, personal details. 

But why now? Why had Bucky come back now? It didn’t make any sense. Steve reached up, his hand closing around the dog tags he always wore. They were Bucky’s. They’d swapped tags the first night they’d made love after Azzano. Steve hadn’t taken them off since. Brock wasn’t the biggest fan of them but he understood.  
“Baby?” Brock called out before finding him sitting at his work stool. His face softened. “Hey, you still working on that painting?” 

“Brock,” Steve replied uncertainly. “Could I speak to you?” 

“Of course you can,” Brock answered, dumping his briefcase on the floor and joining him by the painting. Steve watched as he regarded it for a moment. “Kinda depressing colour scheme isn’t it?” 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Steve said it suddenly. He didn’t want to lose his nerve. Brock raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Steve swallowed hard. “Someone came by the apartment today,” He continued, staring at the apartment building he’d painted so carefully. “He said his name was Clint. He said that Bucky had come back as a ghost and he-”

“Steve baby, I think you’re tired.” Brock said, cutting him off. “You’ve been through a lot of-”

“It was real Brock. He was in touch with Bucky, like actually talking to him. He knew things,”

“What kind of things” Brock frowned. 

“Intimate stuff that only Bucky and me knew. Some things I’ve never told anyone.” Steve replied. He was staring at the rusted, slightly wonky fire escape. He remembered how treacherous and wobbly it was during the winter. How Bucky used to sit out there and smoke in the summer, his shirt sleeves rolled up, all the while telling him funny stories about the docks. He couldn’t help but smile nostalgically. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brock was watching him carefully. “He...he also said I was in danger.” He continued. “That somebody is out to kill me.” 

“Jesus Christ this is getting deranged,” Brock shook his head. “We’re going off the deep end here. This is sick Steve. How can you swallow this crap? It sounds like this Clint person is just trying to set someone up and he’s using you!” He started to pace angrily.

“That’s what I need to find out,” Steve answered. “He wanted me to go to the police.”

“The police?” Brock asked incredulously. “Are you aware of how crazy that sounds? What are you going to tell them? some random stranger who claims to get messages from dead people is saying you’re in danger? I mean, we’re talking ghosts here Steve.” He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry Baby, I don’t mean to sound harsh but this stuff really gets to me. It’s obvious he’s taking advantage of your past.” 

“So you don’t believe it?” Steve said, tearing his eyes away from the painting and looking at Brock. 

“I’m really trying to Baby,” He sighed again, his shoulder slumping. “How about I check this Clint guy out before you go to police? Yeah. That’s what I’ll do. You need to focus on resting and letting that shoulder heal. Leave it with me ok?” 

“Thanks Brock,” Steve spun around on his stool and took hold of Brock’s hand. Brock moved in for a kiss.  
“I love you Baby,”

“Ditto.”

***

 

Bucky made his way back to the intruder’s apartment. When he approached the front door, he could hear two male voices talking in low tones. He passed through the thin wood easily enough and found the two men were standing in the lounge area. 

Bucky gaped, aghast. One of the men was Brock. He was dressed in a business suit and had his arms clamped across his chest looking mightily pissed off. The other guy, the intruder, was glaring at Brock defensively. 

Bucky blinked. Had Brock somehow beat him to the punch? 

“Who the hell have you been talking to, you fucking asshole?” Brock demanded angrily. 

“Talking to? What are you talking about?” the intruder asked. 

“Some guy knows all about you, Jack. Knows you were in Rogers’ apartment. Where’d he get that information from, huh? You been getting drunk in bars and shooting your mouth off again?” 

“You’re going crazy, Brock. I haven’t been talking to anyone,” Jack replied, rolling his eyes. 

“This guy knows where you fucking live!” Brock exclaimed. 

“So what? A lot of guys, and girls, know where I live,” Jack said with a very salacious wink. 

It was Brock’s turn to roll his eyes. He growled angrily. 

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Jack. Whoever this Clint guy is, you need to get rid of him. Pierce was very clear about what would happen if we fucked this up. Do you have any idea of how much time and money HYDRA have sunk into this project? They got me that job in that fucking office as cover. HYDRA needs Rogers if they’re gonna have any chance of recreating Erskine’s serum.” 

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your dick in a twist. Just give me the details and I’ll take care of it.” 

“Fine. Just don’t fuck it up like you did with the shooting. How you fucking missed his heart I’ll never fucking know. You’re supposed to be an elite agent.” 

He turned on his heel and stalked straight through Bucky and hurried down the stairs. 

Bucky ran after him. He wanted to shout and scream at Brock. He wanted to kick his fucking ass. 

In order to do that, he’d need to learn how to do more than move through doors. 

***

“Well holy cow, if it ain’t Sarge!”  
Bucky jumped back. He’d come to the graveyard to think. When Clint had caught him up on recent events, he’d mentioned where the Howling Commandos were buried. Deciding he needed some peace to clear his head, Bucky had made a beeline for the graves.

He’d been staring at the small row of graves, taking in everybody’s death date, when DumDum himself had popped up from behind a nearby tree. He looked exactly like Bucky remembered, right down to the bowler hat perched on top of his head. 

“Dum Dum! Man...you have no idea how great it is to see you.” 

“Could say the same for you, Sarge. How’d you end up back here? Figured I’d have seen ya around before now. Been haunting this patch for a few decades.”

“Does that mean you can move stuff?” Bucky asked suddenly. “Cos if you can, I’m in desperate need of some fuckin’ help. Steve’s in danger and--” Bucky shook his head. “Never mind. Long story. Can you help me out?” 

“I sure as hell can!” Dum Dum replied with a large grin.

***

“No, no, no! you’re doing it all wrong!” 

It was half an hour later, and Bucky was still trying to move the same god-damn bottle cap across the sidewalk. 

“Well excuse me all to hell,” Bucky muttered. “It’s not like you get a manual when you die, y’know?” 

“Ha! That’s the Sarge I know!” Dum Dum replied, roaring with laughter. He nodded towards the bottle cap. “Now, concentrate. You’re still trying to move stuff with your hands. It ain’t about that anymore. We’re dead. It’s all about the mind. You have to focus.” 

“I get that,” Bucky said, “But how the fuck do you focus?” 

“I don’t know,” Dum Dum shrugged. “You just...focus.” As if by magic, he flicked the bottle cap with surprising force. It clattered to the floor somewhere in the darkness. “You gotta be angry, right? real pissed that you died? Hell I know I was.”

“Yeah, I’m plenty pissed,” Bucky replied darkly. All he had to do was think about Rumlow’s smug face and he could feel the rage coursing through his veins. 

“Then use it! Don’t feel it all over. Concentrate and really feel it in the pit of your stomach. That’s what I do. I think about Peggy an’ how I had to leave her and our kids, and bam! it’s like a reactor.” 

So Bucky thought. He concentrated on a soda can. He thought about everything that had happened to Steve. He thought about being strapped to the table, forced to be Zola’s plaything. He thought about Rumlow, and how much Steve obviously cared for him when the guy was actually trying to kill him.

Suddenly, the can flew across the gravelled path and, like the cap before it, disappeared into the darkness. 

“Fuckin’ A!” Bucky crowed triumphantly.

“Way to go, Sarge! Now, it’s time to teach ya how to possess someone’s body!” 

***

Steve sat in the grubby interview room at his local Police precinct. It was bare except for the two-way glass, the formica table and four hard plastic chairs. Across from him sat two interviewing officers, Officer Carrie Eric and Officer Melanie Adam. Both of them were staring at him curiously, making Steve feel totally uncomfortable. 

“Look, you gotta believe me. I know how crazy this sounds. I don’t even believe in this stuff myself, but it’s real. Do you really think I’ve be here making an ass of myself if it wasn’t?”

“Mr Rogers-” Officer Eric started. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve continued. “Don’t you guys use psychics all the time?” He groaned. “Damn it. I hear myself sayin’ this stuff and trust me, I wanna cringe, but Clint Barton knew things. Intimate things.” 

“How intimate are we talking here?” Officer Adam asked, scribbling something down on her notes. She still didn’t look at all convinced. 

“Stuff that only Bucky would know,” Steve answered. 

“So let’s check we’ve got this straight here, Mr Rogers.” Officer Eric said, sounding irritated. “You’re telling me that the kid brother of a well-known ‘psychic’ has discovered he has the gift too, and is now telling you that your dead best friend is saying somebody called Jack Rollins is out to kill you?” She sighed heavily and clicked the stop button on the recorder. “I’m sorry, Mr Rogers, but Officer Adam and I have more pressing business to attend to.” She stood up and stalked out of the room without looking back. 

Steve sighed deeply, watching as Officer Adam, the less senior of the two, started gathering her notes into a manila folder. 

“Couldn’t you just check up on the name?” Steve asked quietly. “See if he’s got a record? I thought this guy was a friend, and now I find out he’s dangerous…”

“Ok,” Officer Adam sighed. “Just wait here.” 

***

Ten minutes later, Officer Adam re-entered the interview room. She was carrying another folder, this one was a lot thicker than the one she’d been making notes for. Wordlessly, she placed it in the middle of the table and opened it up. She spread out various mugshots and arrest records of a guy that Steve didn’t recognise. The only thing that was familiar was the last name ‘Barton’. 

“This is Barney Barton,” Officer Adam explained. “He’s the psychic you were talking about. You were right. He is well known. Unfortunately, he’s well known for scamming unfortunate people out of their hard-earned cash. He’s got quite the record, as you can see. He’s also used the name Clint Barton. Presumably he used his brother’s name to keep out of trouble.” 

“No…” 

“I’m sorry, Mr Rogers. But it seems like you’ve been conned. I wouldn’t believe a word this Clint Barton says. It’s obvious he’s trying to pull the same stunts as his brother.” 

“But he said things that only Bucky would know. How do you explain that?” Steve asked. He hadn’t mentioned that Bucky had died way back in 1943. He figured that bit of information wouldn’t really help his cause. 

“They have their ways, unfortunately. They can search obits. They can go through your garbage, learn personal things. I’m sorry, Mr Rogers, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

Steve stood up and walked out.

***

By the time Bucky made it back to Steve’s apartment, Brock had already returned. Much to Bucky’s surprise, he and Steve were sitting together on the couch. The TV was off and there was an almost empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table in front of them. Brock had his arm around Steve who was resting his head on Brock’s chest. It looked like he’d been crying. 

“So then the police told me that Clint has this brother who’s a total fraud and that he’s probably just done his research,” Steve sniffed. 

“No!” Bucky yelled, even though he knew Steve couldn’t hear him. 

“It was all a sham, Brock, a stupid sham. I can’t believe that I believed some stranger. I’ve known Jack as long as you.” 

“It’s okay, Baby,” Brock replied, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, with the move and your work deadlines.” He kissed the top of Steve’s head. “And of course you’re going to want to believe Bucky came back. It’s only natural.” Brock was one of the few people that knew the truth about Steve. He’d taken it in his stride and been nothing but supportive. “I know what he meant to you.”

“I just wanted to believe he was here,” Steve said wetly. 

“I am here, Stevie! Fuck!” Bucky cursed. He could feel the anger that Dum Dum had talked about brewing in his stomach. 

“I guess I’m the fool,” Steve continued with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just don’t get why someone would do something so cruel.” 

“It’s hard to face reality, Baby,” Brock answered, rubbing Steve’s back and kissing the top of his head again. Steve nuzzled further into Brock’s chest. The sight made Bucky want to vomit. “But I’m here to help. You just let me know if that Clint guy harrasses you again, okay?” 

“Thanks, Brock,” Steve replied, sniffing. He leant forward and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “What would I do without you?” 

***

Bucky hurried back to Clint’s apartment. He heard the hum of Clint’s voice behind the door, along with another horribly familiar voice. 

When he moved through the door, Bucky saw Jack Rollins standing in the hallway. Clint was pressed against the wall and Rollins was holding a gun to his temple. Lucky’s barks sounded muffled. Obviously the dog had been shut up in another room somewhere else in the apartment. 

“Look man, I have no idea what this is about,” Clint said nervously. 

“You’re the one who talks to the dead, right? Well I got something to ask you. I got a friend who’s apparently come back as a ghost.” 

“And your friend’s name is?” Clint asked.

“Well, y’see, I was kinda hoping that you could tell me,” Rollins replied, digging the gun into Clint’s skin. “After all, you’re the psychic, right?” 

“Who the hell are you?” Clint demanded. 

“Well you’re the one who’d know. You’ve been talking about me recently, haven’t you? You’re the mindreader-” 

Rollins was cut off as Bucky grabbed a nearby lamp and smashed it over Rollins head. The gun slipped from his hand and Clint quickly grabbed it. 

“What the fuck?” Rollins yelled, dazed. He shook his head before turning tail and running. 

“Fuck!” Bucky cursed. 

“That was one of my favourite lamps,” Clint said, looking at the broken pieces on the floor. “It cost me a whole three dollars at the flea market.” He looked back up at Bucky. “So, um...why was that dude trying to kill me?” 

“Clint, we’re in deep shit.” Bucky answered. 

“We?” Clint said incredulously. “Dude, you’re already dead. Can’t really get in much more trouble than that.” 

“I can stop them, but I’m gonna need your help.” 

“Hey man, don’t you think I’ve already helped you enough? I’ve risked the wrath of Captain America and now I’ve got some ugly dude pressing guns into my face.” He picked the gun up off the floor and admired it. “I think it’s time I stopped helping you. Halloween’s coming up, you could go and find a haunted house, freak out some kids, rattle some chains. That kinda thing.”

“Look, Clinton Francis Barton. Just sit your ass down and listen to me!” Bucky searched around the room and quickly zeroed in on an ugly beige teapot. He grabbed hold of it and lifted it above his head. “Or the teapot gets it! Oh, and I was also taught how to posses bodies!” 

Clint grumbled, but reluctantly sat down. Bucky put the teapot down and grinned at him, taking a seat in Clint’s armchair.

“So, you said you were a history buff. What do you know about HYDRA?” 

***

“I thought you said this would be easy,” Bucky complained nearly an hour later. 

Clint had filled him in about HYDRA and they’d managed to come up with a plan to bring Rumlow down. Rollins was another concern they hadn’t quite figured out yet but, in taking down Rumlow, they’d at least stop the brains of the operation. 

The idea in itself seemed simple. Another one of Clint’s hidden talents was computer hacking. Clint had explained, with as little jargon as possible, that he was going to access the accountancy company’s system and make it look like Rumlow was siphoning funds from clients’ accounts. 

“It is easy,” Clint replied, not looking up from his computer screen. “You’re just impatient.” 

“And you’re sure it’s gonna work? And that you can do this?” Bucky added with concern. The last thing they needed was any kind of fuck up that would give Rumlow a clue they were on to him. Bucky had to make Steve see that Rumlow wasn’t a caring boyfriend, but a dangerous asshole who was out to get him.

“You wanna do this?” Clint asked peevishly, grabbing his coffee cup and taking a deep drink. “Cos if you can hack into the intranet of a multi-billion dollar company and then search through their data files to find out which accounts are handled by one staff member and then do some quick data transfers then, by all means, be my guest.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky sighed. 

“I get it, man, I really do. This is one hell of a fucked-up situation. I mean, at no point in my life did I expect to be committing corporate fraud on the orders of a ghost from the 1940s.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And I’m in!” he crowed triumphantly a moment later. 

Bucky peeked at the screen. It all looked rather meaningless to him. The name Faber and Goldman lit up the screen, and various lines of text started to quickly scroll across it. 

“Dude, I’m telling ya, you’d be shocked to find out how easy this is,” Clint said smugly as he tapped away at the keyboard. “So, from here I need to go into personnel...find Rumlow’s details…” He muttered to himself. “His first name is Brock right?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. 

“Okay, Brock Rumlow. Here we are. Okay, I’m gonna need to write this down--” Clint stopped, blinking in surprise when Bucky handed him a notepad and pen. “Wait, you can touch shit now? Just when I thought this couldn’t get any weirder...okay, Clint. Focus.” He scribbled down some numbers on the notepad. “And now we go into accounts and find the ones with his name on them.” 

“And then what?” Bucky asked, intrigued. 

“Well, I just wrote down his bank details. So all I need to do is pull up a couple of his biggest accounts, and transfer money from them to his personal account to make it look like he’s been stealing from his clients. Then all we need to do is make a phonecall to the company, play the concerned citizen, and they’ll take care of the rest. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be in a jail cell.” 

“Perfect,” Bucky grinned. “Meanwhile, I think I just had the perfect idea of how to deal with Rollins.” 

***

Bucky left Clint at the computer to work his magic. He made his way to Rollins’ apartment. Luckily, the guy was at home. He was sprawled on the couch in a pair of ratty old sweatpants. He was eating some kind of noodles from a foil tray. A can of beer was open on the coffee table. He was laughing inanely at something on the TV. 

Bucky grinned. He was about to have some fun.

He started with the TV. He walked up to it and located the power switch on the side. He pressed it and watched as the screen went black.

“What the--” Rollins muttered as he stood up to switch the TV back on again. 

Bucky waited until he’d sat back down before switching it off again. 

“Piece of shit” Rollins said as he got up once more and switched it back on. 

A radio standing on a small table to his left caught Bucky’s eye. Leaving the TV, he crossed the room and pressed the power switch for the radio, making sure he turned the volume knob up as far as it would go. Loud classical music suddenly flooded the apartment, making Rollins jump.  
“The fuck is going on in here?” he demanded, sounding annoyed. 

As soon as he pressed the switch to turn the radio off, Bucky hit the switch for the TV again. 

Rollins frowned. “Fucking shitty wiring,” he grumbled. He shook his head and headed for the kitchen. 

Bucky followed him, looking around. Rollins pulled a bottle of whiskey out of one of the cabinets. He moved to unscrew the cap but Bucky slid the bottle out of his reach. 

“What the--who’s there?” Rollins demanded, suddenly sounding nervous. He reached for the bottle. 

Bucky slid it further away. He spied some alphabet magnets on the door of the fridge. He banged on the fridge door to get Rollins’ attention and quickly rearranged the magnets to spell out one word.

Murderer. 

“No fucking way…” Rollins gasped. Bucky could see him trembling. “What the fuck is going on here?” 

Bucky quickly rearranged the letters again. 

Steve Rogers. I know. Hydra. 

“Oh, God! Oh, fuck! What the hell?” Rollins’ eyes widened. He bolted from the kitchen. 

Bucky followed as Rollins ran from the apartment entirely, not bothering to put on a jacket or even shoes. He ran straight out into the street and across the road. He didn’t see the oncoming car.

Bucky looked away at the screech of brakes. There were shocked shouts from the people on the sidewalk. When he looked again, Rollins was sprawled in the middle of the road. The car’s windscreen was smashed and Rollins was bleeding heavily from the back of his head, creating a scarlet puddle on the road. A man hurried out of the car, wrenching a phone from his pocket as people started to gather round. 

“He just ran out!” the driver said helplessly. 

Suddenly, Rollins was there, on his feet again, standing by the side of the road. He stared down at his own body in utter horror. 

Bucky grinned. “You’re dead, Rollins,” he said. 

Rollins turned around and looked at him, eyes wide with shock and fear. 

Before Bucky could speak again, he heard a strange noise that sounded like it was coming from beneath his feet. It was a low groan that sounded like nothing else he’d ever heard before. It grew louder and louder until a series of dark, shadowy figures suddenly floated upwards from the ground. 

Rollins started to scream as they headed straight for him. Two of them seemed to grab hold of him, and Bucky could see the man’s terrified expression as he was dragged away, kicking and screaming.

Bucky couldn’t feel too triumphant. Brock’s car had just pulled up to where the gathered crowd was. 

***

“Rollins is dead.” 

“What?” Clint blinked. “How? When? Where?” He looked utterly baffled. 

“That’s not important. Did you get the account thing sorted out?” Bucky replied. 

“Yeah, just gotta wait until they open up in the morning to make the call,” Clint answered with a nod. 

“Great. Now we gotta get over to Steve’s place. Rumlow’s gonna find out that Rollins is dead and when he does, he’s probably gonna be rattled as hell and go straight for Steve himself.” 

“Then I guess I better call a cab.”

“There’s just one minor little problem,” Bucky replied. He took a deep breath. “Steve went to the police and tried to report Rollins, and they had your brother’s file. Between the cops and Rumlow, he convinced you’re a fraud.” 

“Great.” Clint said witheringly. 

***

“Tell him to step on it,” Bucky said as he and Clint sat in the back of a cab. 

Luckily, Clint hadn’t been put off by the idea that he wouldn’t receive a warm welcome. He’d called the cab, and now they were on their way to Steve’s place. 

“Hey man, do you think you could step on it?” Clint asked, leaning forward a little. 

The driver turned his head and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, pal. Goin’ as fast as I can here,” he replied. Then his eyes widened in shock as the gas pedal suddenly slammed down by itself, propelling the cab forward. The driver grabbed the wheel and frantically tried to keep control of the car as it moved through the traffic. 

“Having problems?” Clint asked innocently. 

***

 

“I’m really not looking forward to this…” Clint grumbled as he hurried up the stairs and reached Steve’s door. Luckily, someone else had been entering the building when they arrived so they were able to slip in after them and avoid the buzzer completely. 

Clint took a deep breath and rapped on Steve’s door. 

“Who’s there?” Steve’s voice called out a moment later. Clint stared at the door looking like he was deeply regretting knocking.  
“Come on.” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me sing again!”

“Ugh fine.” Clint rolled his eyes and cleared his throat “It’s Clint Barton,” He announced. 

“Get the hell outta here before I call the police,” came Steve’s very unfriendly-sounding reply. 

“Tell him to do it. We want the police,” Bucky muttered. 

“Call ‘em,” Clint called back bravely. “That’s what we want you to do. Bucky and me. He’s here right now. You’re in deep shit, Steve. We’re here to help.” 

“Why the hell are you doing this to me?” Steve suddenly yelled through the door. “You made a fool of me once and I’m not going to let you do it again! I don’t know how you knew that stuff, but you’re nothing but a fraud and a phoney and you should be ashamed of using a dead man’s name like that! Leave me alone!” 

“Gimme a minute,” Bucky said to Clint. He slipped through the door. Steve was dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair was ruffled as if he’d been running his hands through it.

It broke his heart to see Steve so vulnerable. It reminded him of the many days he’d spent sitting at Steve’s beside, hoping and praying that this illness wouldn’t be the one to end his life. Back then he’d smooth down his rumpled hair, caress his fevered brow and reassure him that everything would be ok. But now, now he couldn’t do any of that. He wanted to do nothing but feel Steve’s touch again. “Tell him that he’s got a mole on his left ass cheek.” He said quietly. 

“Dude,” came Clint’s disgusted reply. Then he sighed. “Bucky says you have a mole on your left ass cheek. See? I’m not fake. How the hell would I know that? I haven’t even seen your ass!” 

“Go away! Just leave me alone…” Steve repeated, although his tone lacked as much conviction as before. 

Bucky bit his lip, thinking hard. “You got a penny?” he asked. 

“The fuck do you want a penny for?” Clint replied through the door. 

“Just get one and push it under the door!” Bucky ordered. He heard a few muttered curses but a moment later, a penny slipped underneath the door. 

“What’s going on?” Steve demanded, sounding confused as he spotted the coin. Bucky concentrated hard. He moved the penny so that it was standing up on its side against the door. He made it move slowly upwards against the wood until it was at Steve’s eye level. 

Steve gaped at it, looking wrong-footed. He continued to watch, almost hypnotised, as Bucky made the penny float towards him. Out of instinct, Steve opened up his left hand. Bucky dropped the penny into it. 

“Tell him it’s for luck,” Bucky said.

“Bucky says it’s for luck,” Clint replied a moment later. 

Steve stared down at the penny in his hand. Tears filled his eyes. His trembling right hand reached for the lock above the door. 

Bucky smiled softly, even though Steve couldn’t feel it, he closed his hand over the top of his upturned palm. He knew the penny would do the trick. It was an old old routine of theirs. If one of them found a penny in the street, they’d pick it up and give it to the other for luck. Bucky had always ended up finding the pennies first due to Steve’s poor eyesight, and Steve ended up with a jar of them on his bedside table. One time, Bucky had pilfered some of his paint and crudely painted ‘for luck’ on the side of the jar. 

Steve unlocked the door and opened it. 

***

“I still can’t believe it,” Steve muttered tearfully. “This whole time Brock was working for HYDRA?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe they’re still around, although I guess it makes sense. Maybe I should rethink the Captain America thing,” he added, more to himself than Clint. 

“Right now, I need you to call the police,” Clint replied on Bucky’s instruction. “Tell them that somebody is on his way to kill you because you discovered he’s been stealing from his company.” 

“Brock’s been stealing from the accountancy company?” Steve said in disbelief. 

“Kinda, yeah...well, no, not really. Technically he has. But it wasn’t really him. It was me. I hacked into the system to make it look like--y’know what. That’s probably not important right now. Bucky reckons that Rumlow is on his way here, and he’s gonna be pissed. Rollins isn’t in the picture anymore, so it’s highly likely he’s gonna panic and come here to finish the job himself.” 

“And this was all to get the serum? Because HYDRA wants to replicate it?” Steve asked, shaking his head. 

“Sorry, man. I know it’s gotta be a lot to take in. Especially after everything you’ve been through. If you want, I can make the call…” 

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

***

After Steve called the police, who assured him they were on their way, an awkward silence fell between him and Clint. Bucky stared out of the apartment windows, looking for any sign of Brock. Clint stood in the hallway nervously fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. Steve had made it to the couch and was perched on the end of it, looking shellshocked. 

“Clint? Is...is Bucky still here?” he asked eventually. 

“Um, yeah,” Clint replied, slightly awkwardly. “He’s just sitting down next to you actually. On your left.” 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said gently. “You have no idea how much I wish I could touch you right now.” 

“He says he wishes he could touch you,” Clint replied. 

“Oh, Buck…” Steve said, tears filling his eyes once more. He gently reached out, his trembling fingers curling around empty air.

Bucky watched as Clint looked away uncomfortably. He seemed to be wrestling internally with something. He sighed heavily and looked back at Bucky.

“Fine. You can use me. Do your possession thing. Don’t make me regret it.” 

Bucky nodded, stunned. He was overwhelmed by Clint’s offer. He smiled gratefully at him and moved over to the one thing he recognised in the apartment: the large jukebox in the corner. 

It was the same model as the one that had been at the local malt shop, back in Brooklyn. With trembling fingers he pressed two buttons and closed his eyes as the room filled with the sounds of The Ink Spots. 

Bucky concentrated, just as Dum Dum had taught him to do, and stepped straight into Clint’s body. He flexed the strange new fingers and held his left hand out to Steve who looked up at him curiously.

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah, Stevie, it’s me.” 

Steve grabbed hold of his hand and Bucky pulled him to his feet. It wasn’t a cramped, shabby apartment, and there was no symphony of dripping pans, but as Bucky pulled Steve close, feeling his head against his cheek, he could’ve sworn they were right back in Brooklyn with the terrible storm and the leaking roof. 

They started to sway to the music. Steve’s head came to rest on his shoulder and Bucky breathed in his scent. Somehow, it hadn’t changed in all the years they’d been apart. It smelt like home. 

Bucky could feel the tears in his eyes and he knew from Steve’s shaking shoulders that he was crying too. This was everything they’d always wanted. The war had split them up but they’d been doggedly determined that they’d be back in each other’s arms one day. Bucky hadn’t thought that it would take seventy years to be back here, holding onto Steve tightly, smelling him, feeling him, back where he belonged.

He couldn’t keep it up for long. As the song came to an end, Bucky could feel himself slipping away. As the final note fluttered away, Bucky was suddenly on the floor, an overwhelming feeling of weakness crashing over him like a wave. 

“Hey, Ghost Dude, you okay?” Clint asked with concern.

Bucky opened his mouth to thank Clint but his words were cut off by the front door opening. Steve had had the aforethought to put the chain on, which prevented the door from opening fully. 

“Steve?” Brock said through the crack. “Baby, you left the chain on. Can you let me in?’ 

“Go away, Brock,” Steve called back. 

“What are you talking about, Baby?” Brock replied. “Come on, let me in. I’m getting impatient here!” 

“Clint, you and Steve head for the fire escape. We need him to come in so he’s here when the police arrive. I can move the chain, just get to safety, okay?” 

Clint nodded and relayed the information to Steve who frowned, unconvinced. 

“C’mon, man, he knows what he’s doing,” Clint said, pushing Steve out of the lounge area. “Fire escape, let’s go.” 

As Steve and Clint hurried away, Bucky focused his energy on the door chain. He was about to slide it across its runner when Brock, obviously tired of waiting, kicked the door open. He was carrying a gun. He charged into the room, looking around. 

“Steve?”

His eyes went straight for the open window. Bucky wobbled to his feet and threw himself at Brock, trying his best to pummel him with his fists. To his horror, his hands moved straight through Brock. He cursed. It was obviously the after-effects of bodily possession. He was tired and weak. 

Brock marched over to the window and stuck his head out. 

“Steve!” he yelled before clambering out of the window. 

Bucky followed as quickly as he could. Brock was making his way up the fire escape. Steve and Clint were almost at the top. There was a series of scaffolds encircling the top half of the building. Clint motioned to an open skylight and Bucky watched them duck through it. 

“Steve!” Brock shouted angrily. 

Bucky hurried up the fire escape and reached the skylight just as Brock slid through it. 

Steve and Clint were at the other end of a barren attic space. There were piles of bricks and dust sheets scattered across the dusty floorboards. Steve clambered up a ladder on the opposite wall. Clint made to follow him, but Brock got there faster. He grabbed hold of Clint’s ankle and yanked him down the first few rungs of the ladder. Thrown off balance, Clint fell to the floor. 

Brock aimed his gun directly as Clint’s head, the other hand grabbing a handful of his blonde hair and yanking him to his knees.

“So you’re the one who fucked this up,” Brock spat as he cocked the gun. “You’re the reason Jack’s dead!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Clint stammered. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Brock snarled. 

“I loved you, Brock!” Steve suddenly called from halfway up the ladder. “And all this time you were lying to me? Just how big is the HYDRA paycheck?” He slid down the ladder, approaching Brock carefully so as not to startle him. “Why don’t you let Clint go? I’m the one you want.” 

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. 

“I did what I had to do,” Brock answered. He pressed the gun into Clint’s temple and tightened his grip in Clint’s hair. “You’re a valuable commodity, Cap. I suppose if you agree to come with me then I guess I could spare this worthless piece of shit’s life.” 

“He’s going nowhere,” Bucky growled, even though Brock couldn’t hear him. 

He could feel his strength returning. He concentrated on all of the hurt, all the sadness and all the anger of the last few days, and let it grow in the pit of his stomach. He charged forwards like an American football player and collided with Brock, hitting him straight in the stomach. 

With a winded gasp, Brock fell backwards, releasing Clint. The gun fell from his hand and slid across the floorboards. Clint made a grab for it. 

Brock staggered, winded by Bucky’s blow. He tried to regain his balance, gripping onto a nearby scaffolding pole. He pulled against the pole, trying to right himself. It hadn’t been secured into its socket properly. As he pulled, it came away from its frame, smashing through a nearby window. 

The sirens were getting closer and closer. 

Brock staggered around, trying to get his breath back. He staggered too near the open window. A broken shard of glass was still attached to the wooden frame. Brock lost his footing and fell backwards. He landed on the dagger-like shard. It pierce straight through his chest. 

Steve made a strangled noise that sounded like a gasp. 

Brock stared down at his own torso in shock as the blood started to flow from the wound. He opened his mouth to scream but he didn’t make a noise. His eyes were open, but the life inside of him had been extinguished. 

For a moment, there was only the sound of Steve and Clint’s heavy breathing. Bucky stared at Brock’s corpse, waiting. 

Sure enough, Brock seemed to step out of his body, just like Jack had. He looked down, confused by the lack of blood. The shard had disappeared. He looked back up, his eyes wide with fear as he made eye contact with Bucky. 

“That’s right, Rumlow,” Bucky spat. “You’re dead.” 

And just like he’d seen with Jack, the moaning noise started up. The black shadow figures roses up from the floor. They swooped straight for Brock, enveloping him. The shadows surged forward as one, dragging Brock with them into the ether. For the briefest of moments, Bucky was sure he could hear Brock’s terrified scream. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Clint said, breaking the silence. Steve stared at Brock’s lifeless body, shaking his head. 

“I really loved him,” he muttered. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky said sadly. He knew that Steve didn’t give his love away easily. He didn’t expect a reply, of course, so it came as a surprise when Steve’s eyes widened in shock.

“Bucky? Is that you?” He looked around before his eyes landed on the spot where Bucky was standing. “Oh, God, it is...Bucky, Buck...I hear you. I...I can see you.”

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky replied shakily. 

“Oh, Buck…” Steve said, his face crumpling. He ran forward, straight into Bucky’s open arms. With shaking fingers, Bucky brought up his left hand and gently caressed Steve’s cheek. It felt exactly the same as it did all those years ago.

Steve leant into the touch and let out a choked sob. “I miss you so much, Bucky.” 

“I’m here,” Bucky replied, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. 

They’d were parted so suddenly that he never got the chance to catalogue all the details about Steve: the little soft blonde hairs on the back of his neck, the roughness of cheek where the stubble was coming through. Now, he noted each and every little thing. He knew Steve was doing the exact same thing. “I miss you too, Stevie.” 

The room around them suddenly lit up with the same white light as Bucky remembered from the hospital room. Bucky sighed against Steve’s neck. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to.  
“I can’t stay anymore.” 

“No...Buck. Please. You have to!” Steve pleaded. “You can’t leave me again. Please! not now. Not after everything!” He sobbed.

“I hafta Stevie,” Bucky replied gently. “As much as I wish I could, I can’t fight the afterlife.”  
The white light intensified. Bucky pulled away to look at Steve’s face one last time. He cupped his hands around his cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. 

“Til the end of the line, Stevie. Always.” He gently kissed Steve’s forehead. Steve squeezed his wrists. 

Bucky turned to look at Clint. “Goodbye, Clint, you asshole.” He gave him a watery smile. “Thank you. So much.”

“No problem, Ghost Dude,” Clint replied, smiling warmly. 

He turned back to Steve. He knew the parting was not forever. One day, Steve would join him but until then, they needed to say goodbye. 

“I love you, Steve. I’ve always loved you.” 

“Love you too, Buck,” Steve replied through his tears. “Til the end of the line.” 

Bucky stepped back and let the white light envelop him. A wave of peace washed over him. He looked down at his body, which started to emit an ethereal glow. 

“It’s amazing, Stevie,” he said with a smile. “The love inside. You take it with you.” 

Steve watched as Bucky’s spirit slowly started to rise upwards, bathing the entire room in his glow. He smiled tearfully as Bucky gave him the same dorky salute that he’d given him all those years ago. 

Finally, when the light had faded away and there was no sign of his love, Steve allowed Clint to lead him out of the room.

THE END.


End file.
